


Volver

by JosieMarieVivianWilkins



Series: Gaggle of Gallavich [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Funeral, Memories, Mickey's mom - Freeform, Oneshot, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22931536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosieMarieVivianWilkins/pseuds/JosieMarieVivianWilkins
Summary: The prompt was 'Mickey's mom coming back'.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Gaggle of Gallavich [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789267
Kudos: 48





	Volver

**Author's Note:**

> So, Jools10 gave me an interesting prompt and I interpreted it canonically I guess.
> 
> The title is the Spanish verb 'to return/come back' (pronounced 'bolb-air'). I used it rather than the French 'revenir' because it looks like the end of the word 'revolver' and I guess that just feels like a Milkovich theme a little. *Shrug*

“Why the fuck are you in a suit?” Mandy yelled as their father stumbled through the lounge past his two youngest children and some random ginger child he didn’t recall fathering.

Terry grunted dismissively as he continued to the front door, “Funeral; your mom died.”

“What the fuck?! And you didn’t think to fucking tell us? You’re a fucking asshole!” The young girl stood up firmly, anger etched in to her features as her voice as bravely raised to mask the tears that threatened to fall. “Where is it?”

By now, Mickey had stood to back his sister’s stupidity, leaving the Gallagher boy seated on the couch uncomfortably. When Terry slurred something dismissively that sounded like ‘same place every South Sider goes to get buried,’ Mickey put a hand on his sister’s shoulder in comfort as he yelled, “Just get the fuck outta’ here.” Once again, receiving no abrupt reaction, it was very clear to the Milkovich children that Terry was past his aggressive stage of drunk and was bordering on his comatose state if he finished the flask that was no doubt tucked in to his faded suit jacket. A small grunt was all that filled the air before the door slammed shut and locked in what warmth and sadness filled the Milkovich home.

“Go get ready,” A tearful Mandy mumbled, shrugging her brother off, “we’re going.” Luckily, her brother was smart enough to simply nod and go to his room, allowing Mandy to cast a watery glance to her best friend before crumpling to the floor in a shaking mess.

That was Ian’s cue. Instantly, he was up and crouching beside his friend, holding her close as he soothed a hand through her hair. “I’m here, I got you.”

Slowly, her sobs began to subside, and her quivering hands gradually wrapped around his waist in thanks. “Come.” Her blue eyes looked up to her ‘boyfriend’ pleadingly, “Please. Mickey… I don’t trust him not to try and beat Dad up. And… Mom wouldn’t… it’s not right. Please!” Ian didn’t need to offer words, his simple nod was enough for Mandy to hug him tightly

“You should get ready then, Mands.” Ian stood up and helped the petite girl to her feet before pulling her in to a warm hug.

“Yeah, I will. Go steal a shirt off Mickey or something – we don’t have time to go past yours.” She trudged towards her room to hunt out a clean black dress and some tights.

Opening Mickey’s bedroom door cautiously, Ian was met by the older boy sniffling from the bathroom as he tried to tame his hair slightly. “Hey…” His voice was weak, uncomfortable as he intruded on Mickey’s personal space.

The dark-haired boy quickly scrubbed his hands over his face, looking away from his fuck buddy for a moment. “What?” His voice was irked and short.

“Umm…” Ian scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably, “Mandy asked me to come with you to the funeral; she said I could borrow a shirt.”

A short grunt and a shrug. Running his hand through his semi-tame hair and dishevelling it, Mickey walked past where Ian stood at the doorway of the bathroom, allowing their arms to brush together before he moved to his chest of drawers. Rifling through some the drawers, discarding of some items of clothing on the floor, he produced a black dress shirt that was only lightly creased, and held it out for the ginger boy to take.

Ian noticed that Mickey didn’t flinch as he usually would when he made a point of briefly squeezing the older boy’s hand during the exchange of the shirt. When Ian thought about it, he realised that Mickey and Mandy had never really mentioned anything about their mother – Ian didn’t even know her name! The shorter boy’s lip quivered slightly as Ian’s hand still maintained contact with his; he looked up to Ian with watery eyes before allowing himself to be held.

No words were spoken, Ian simply dropped the shirt between them to wrap his arms around the boy that had always been so tough, hard, and strong. Now, as he shook slightly in Ian’s embrace, he seemed meek, lost, and child-like.

“I’m gonna’ be there, Mick. For both of you.” Ian reassured, squeezing Mickey’s shoulders lightly before releasing the grieving boy and bending to pick up the borrowed garment and change. The fact that Mickey hadn’t instantly shoved him away was nice, but Ian wasn’t going to push his luck and pop a sweet kiss on the older boy’s forehead like he craved to do so.

“Whatever. Don’t need you there.” Mickey grumbled as he sniffed and returned to the bathroom to quickly splash cold water on his face, hoping to cover any traces of his tears.

Even under the circumstances, a small smirk spread across Ian’s lips at the tough, anti-affection façade of Mickey’s that fought through his broken front to attempt to maintain his hard-ass exterior. “Sure,” Ian simply mumbled dismissively, chuckling softly.

*** * ***

They weren’t so late that they missed much of the funeral, just the carrying in of the coffin and the priest’s beginning introductions. It wasn’t a huge affair, maybe only two dozen people excluding the three of them. Mandy shuffled in to a chair at the back, dragging Ian beside her, and grasped tightly at his hand as they sat as the chubby priest finished off a brief piece about life and the importance of living it to its fullest. He then invited them to stand and join in with a hymn that Ian had not heard of. Neither of the Milkovich siblings stood, so Ian remained seated, maintaining a united front with the funeral-guests-forgotten by means of holding Mandy’s hand and letting his legs sit just a little too wide, allowing his knee to rest against Mickey’s.

The Milkovich boy beside Ian didn’t say anything or move away from Ian – he didn’t even look towards his booty call. The unknown hymn that was sung offkey around him almost lulled him in to a trance.

_His arm ached within the cast, his face throbbing from where he had taken a heavy-handed hit from his father, landing him with a black and removing two baby teeth prematurely. The newly gappy-toothed boy was not even six when his father had been outraged by him asking for ten dollars for a school trip to the museum. Terry Milkovich had all but roared about how he ‘didn’t send his kids to school to go to faggy museums on his dime’ and then given his youngest son a vicious backhand that had sent the scared boy to the floor. Mickey remembered the pain that had flared through his arm as his father had stomped on it hard enough for it to break his radius and fracture his ulna._

_Tear streaming down his face, his sobs half-muffled as had he tried his hardest not to cry, knowing it would make his father even angrier, Mickey had watched as his mother had cowered in the corner of the kitchen, fear pulling at her face as she herself tried to hold back her wails for her husband to leave their child alone. Instead, she had simply bitten her lip and looked to her tearful son, her eyes telling him to be strong for just a few minutes more until Terry left the kitchen._

_“Bullies,” was what Missus Milkovich had told the doctor in the emergency room before Mickey had been plastered up and the pair sent back to the home they feared for their lives in._

She hadn’t been wrong.

Terry was a bully. He was just the worst kind of bully – one without a moral compass. Women, children, the elderly, sick; none of it deterred Terry from his attacks and beatings, and nothing could stop him when he was like that. Anastasia had learnt that the hard way late during her pregnancy with Mandy when she had tried to stop her husband from shoving a toddling Mickey out of the way of the television with his boot-clad foot. She had earnt herself a harsh slap that had bruised her cheek, his wedding ring grazing a cut over her porcelain skin, and a shove back on to the couch that had sent a pain through her swollen stomach.

_Mickey sniffled as his mother held him close, soothing a bruised hand through his hair as she sang softly to him. He had managed to fall asleep despite the pain that coursed through his body under his mother’s gentle caress and angelic voice._

_The moment between mother and son would be a recurring occasion for many years._

Too young and sheltered from religion, Mickey had not known it was a hymn that his mother had always sung to him until he heard it being sung at her funeral. The hymn made his eyes sting with unshed tears as he felt his throat tightening. He attempted to clear his throat, loosening his tie and undoing his top button when he was still unable to breathe easily.

The warmth against his anxiously bouncing knee felt grounding at the moment, and he focused his eyes on the connection between himself and the Gallagher son beside him, cursing the hideous memory that had invaded his thoughts.

When the hymn was completed and the funeral attendees seated, the priest began to speak warmly: “Anastasia was a strong, loving woman. She was fiercely loyal and cared deeply for her family. Her sister, Natalia, told me of how she had marched right up to her baby sister’s schoolyard bully and punched her square in the nose for cutting off one of Natalia pigtails in class.” There were a few chuckles and scattered grunts of approval from guests around them. “She also asked their mother to cut her hair in to a bob out of solidarity for Natalia, not wanting her sister to feel alienated. Anastasia protected her own and supported them through the difficult times.”

Mandy’s hand gripped at Ian’s freckled one tightly, her body quivering as she listened to the words of the elderly priest. She tried desperately to recall that version of their mother, but was only met with recollections of a bruised, beaten woman who had allowed her children to be beaten by Terry Milkovich’s wrath. Her mind was flooded with snapshots and noises, of times their mother had been the exact opposite of what they had just been told.

_Mandy sat in her parents’ built-in closet beside her mother and brother, holding her knees to her chest, Terry had entered their home shouting and cussing in the slurred way that had become normal. Their mother had watched and simply bitten her lip when Terry had flown in to the room and yanked a shaking Mickey from the closet, not moving to help him. She had put a hand over Mandy’s mouth before her youngest could protest._

Releasing Ian’s hand, Mandy reached across the ginger boy to grasp at her brother until a hand caught hold of hers.

_Mandy, Sandy, Mickey, and Iggy returned from trick-or-treating in their awful, makeshift costumes, crying out to Anastasia about how much candy the four of them had gotten when Terry had walked in and yanked the pillowcases full of treats from his children and their cousins. All of the children had looked up to Mickey and Mandy’s mother with pleading expressions and were simply told to go and get changed as the brunette woman had bowed her head and looked away promptly._

The pressure of her brother’s hand holding her own helped the youngest Milkovich to take deep breaths and wipe away a few stray tears with her other hand.

 _Waking up on Christmas day to find wrapping paper on the floor as Terry had yelled at their mother about why she couldn’t get them any_ decent _presents and that he would barely have enough to clear his tab at The Alibi even if he had pawned everything. Anastasia had simply continued to put the colourful paper shred in to a trash bag and accept Terry’s harsh words as her children looked from their bedroom doors with saddened eyes._

“Fucking bullshit,” Mandy mumbled out between sniffles as she stood up to leave the service, snatching her hand from Mickey’s tattooed one harshly.

Ian hesitated, wondering whether he should go after his fake girlfriend, but looked to her brother for a decision, not wanting to overstep on a day that belonged to them, a day which he was simply a guest at.

Mickey nodded softly, knowing that his sister would need somebody who didn’t have strong opinions of their mother. They had had a very different version of Anastasia each, with Mickey seeing the woman who had once resembled the bold woman that the priest spoke about. But he had also seen how she had become a shell of that woman at his father’s hands and didn’t blame her for it. His sister had only seen their mother in her more restricted days, where self-preservation had become a primal instinct, where Terry would take his anger out at her on the kids as a way to punish his wife. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to bite his tongue in defending their mother and would just end up yelling at Mandy more, he pushed his brotherly instinct down and allowed Ian to be the one to go and comfort her.

For the remainder of the service, Mickey sat alone with his thoughts. The last time he had seen his mother had been difficult for him, and remembering it no made his mouth dry and his palms sweaty.

_“I have to go, baby. I love you, but… if I stay, none of us are safe.” His mother’s harshly whispered words pulled Mickey from his slumber._

_“Huh?”_

_She cupped his cheeks and then brushed her hands back in to his hair from where she perched on the edge of his bed, pulling him against her chest to hug his head and press a kiss in to his hair. “I’ll come back for you – both of you – but I need to get away from him before he kills me… or either of you_ because _of me!” She paused to look in to his wide eyes, her tears willingly streaming at this point; “If there was any other way, I would do it – you know I would, baby!” He nodded softly and she hugged him tightly before saying “Okay, I have to go now. I love you. So, so much. You make me so proud.”_

_As his mother crept through his door, he whispered, “Love you, mom!”_

_“And you, baby. Take care of your sister for me.” She closed the door and Mickey tucked himself under his sheets to softly mourn his mother’s departure, not knowing when he would see her again._

He wouldn’t.

She had left not long after his seventeenth birthday. Six months later, he was sat saying goodbye to her once again. It felt like saying goodbye to that childhood innocence that she represented for them; that glimmer of hope.

_Take care of your sister for me._

Taking a deep breath, Mickey stood to do exactly what his mom had asked of him: take care of Mandy. That meant explaining to her what their mother had suffered, why she had acted in such a way that Mandy regarded her in a bad light, and why she had left. This had all taken place in the Gallaghers’ old van in their backyard, the pair unsure of how they would react if they had to see Terry after what had happened.

Deep down, they both knew that Terry had done something to their mother, but they weren’t stupid enough to do anything about it – Mickey wouldn’t let them! Taking care of Mandy meant staying on Terry’s good side; karma would come after the nasty man, and they both needed to be alive and well to see it happen and laugh in his face. They would both get away from him and have their own lives, the lives that their mother wanted for them, and they would make her proud.

**Author's Note:**

> Facts:  
> \- Mickey mentions their mum going to pick their brother up from juvie in season one (set in Winter 2011)  
> \- Ian says to Mandy that at least her mum is dead in season two (set in Summer 2012)
> 
> Assumptions:  
> \- Iggy and Sandy are siblings (I mean, they have a similar vibe visually and stuff so ya know)  
> \- Iggy and Sandy are Mickey and Mandy's cousins on Terry's side  
> \- Iggy and Sandy grew up flitting between the Milkovich home and their home due to the nature of 'the family business,' hence Iggy getting to referred to as Terry's son
> 
> Omissions:  
> \- I haven't referenced the season ten quote about Terry 'handing' them over to DFS for a year after their mum ran off because it doesn't fit with the way I've tweaked this. I could have written it in, but it would have had to have been when they were younger due to the time between the season one and two comments, which would make her coming back for this fic to then take place on a lot less believable due to Terry's temper and lack of forgiveness, so that part doesn't exist here as he probs would have killed her for leaving (whoops, he already did in this fic!)


End file.
